by Tricia Goyer
The last step squeaked slightly as Emily stepped on it, and Charlotte turned. She placed her hand over her heart.
“Oh goodness, you startled me.”
“Why so nervous? Is there something I don’t know?” Emily made a face, pretending to be shocked.
Charlotte chuckled and placed her hands on her hips. “If you must know, I’m baking a cake—”
“For Sam’s birthday, I know.”
Emily watched as her grandma pulled a chocolate cake from the oven.
“Do you want to help frost it when it’s cool?” Charlotte asked. “Strawberry frosting is his favorite, right? Although I’m quite sure it’s the only pink thing your brother likes.”
Emily nodded.
She leaned against the counter, watching her grandma work. Emily knew she had to get outside to do her chores, but from the dim gray sky out the window and the wind that rattled the windows, she quickly tried to think of a way to distract her grandmother.
“Grandma, you know I’m completely broke, and I was trying to figure out a way to do something for Sam.”
“How about giving him coupons for making his bed? Or putting away his laundry? I think he’d really appreciate that.”
“And have to enter his room that smells like dirty socks and sweat?” Emily wrinkled her nose. “No, thanks.”
“You could bake him something. Cookies maybe.”
Emily crossed her arms over her chest as her eyes darted around the kitchen. They landed on the coat rack by the door. “Actually, I was thinking of making him something.” She hurried to the rack and removed three layers of coats and jackets, finding a gray hooded sweatshirt at the bottom of the pile.
“Can I use this?”
“I don’t understand …” Her grandmother pulled out a bag of chocolate chips from the pantry, mumbling to herself that someone had been in them again. “I just bought these things—who keeps getting into the chocolate?”
Emily tried to pretend she didn’t hear. She didn’t want to have to confess that sometimes her after-school snack was a handful of chocolate chips.
“Uncle Pete hasn’t worn this since I’ve been here—” Emily carried the sweatshirt to her grandmother. “I think I can use it to make something.”
“Well maybe. I think I bought it too small.”
“With some scissors and a few homemade corduroy patches from my old skirt, I could make it look cool.”
“It seems odd that you’d take a new sweatshirt and tear it up, but I suppose if Pete’s not wearing it …”
“Cool. Can I use it then?”
“First, you’ve got to check with Pete. And second, you have to do your chores.”
“But it’s—”
“Cold out there, I know. How ‘bout I make some cocoa for you. It will be ready by the time you get back.”
“Okay. If I must.” Emily trudged over to the back door and slid on her boots. Then she put on her thick Cornhuskers sweatshirt, followed by her thickest jacket, gloves, and stocking cap, knowing that she’d still freeze, no matter how many layers she put on.
The wind bit at her nose, causing it to sting. She hurried forward, but not too fast as to slip on the icy snow.
In the movies she always saw snow falling as soft flakes from the sky. She imagined it equally fluffy on the ground, almost like ice cream that your boots would sink into. Instead, the snow here was icy from the few days it had warmed above freezing, melted slightly, and then frozen again. It was also dirty. Nothing like they showed on TV.
With numb hands, she tugged on the barn door and then slipped inside, shutting the door soundly behind her. The light was on, and she could see Uncle Pete up ahead, milking Trudy.
“Hey, Uncle Pete.”
“Hey yourself.”
“I have a question for you.”
Pete glanced at her over his shoulder and paused in his milking. “Whatever it is, the answer is no.”
“Uncle Pete.” Emily gently slugged his arm. “You haven’t even heard it yet.”
“Well, if it involves driving you somewhere, helping you do something, or pulling out my wallet, the answer is no.”
“Haha. It’s none of those.” Emily crossed her arms over her chest. “So I guess the answer is yes.”
“What is it?” His hands moved in a steady rhythm as he continued milking. The milk was white and thick, and Emily liked the way it made a steady rhythm as it splashed into the bucket. Before living on the farm she’d never given much thought to milking, or cows, or where her food came from. Now she couldn’t help but think of it whenever she went to the store, amazed that so many things worked together to put food on the shelves.
“Well … I was wondering if I could have your gray sweatshirt.”
“Sweatshirt?”
“Yeah, on the coat rack.”
“I have a gray sweatshirt on the coat rack?”
“Obviously if you can’t remember, then you don’t need it anymore.”
“Oh, yeah, I think I got that for my last birthday, although I don’t remember who from. What are you gonna do with it?”
“I’m gonna fix it up for Sam. Make it look like a skater sweatshirt.”
“Fix it up, huh? Well, I’m looking forward to seeing that.”
“Thanks, Uncle Pete.” Emily threw her arms around his back and offered a quick squeeze.
With that taken care of, she quickly hurried down to the horse stalls. “How are my pretty girls today?” Stormy perked her ears, and Emily rubbed her muzzle. It was warm and soft, and Stormy pressed her head forward for more attention, just like Toby sometimes nuzzled up to Christopher’s leg.
The truth was that Emily would have tried to do something nice for Sam even if it wasn’t his birthday. He’d been grumpy lately—really grumpy. And more than that, he’d been acting strange too. She thought back to the last couple of days when she’d actually found him cleaning his room not once, but twice. Then there were his cutting remarks. The things he mumbled under his breath. Things he thought no one else had heard. Complaints about the farm, and about blowing this joint. Hearing those things and seeing the lost look in her brother’s eyes made Emily’s stomach hurt so much that she wanted to throw up.
Emily scooped up the grain from the feed barrel and filled the horses’ feed bin. Along with the sick feeling in her stomach, she had a sad feeling too. She felt bad for Sam that it was his first birthday without Mom. She knew her turn was coming soon, but he had to face it first, and she wondered what type of messed-up feelings were going on in his head.
And as much as she argued with her brother, she hated to see him so grouchy, because it just made everyone else cranky around him.
Emily finished up with the horses. Next up was feeding the chickens, which wasn’t that much fun since they didn’t lay many eggs this time of year.
Pete had finished milking and was now mucking the stalls, lost in thought. He didn’t even turn as she approached.
“Thinking about Dana?” Emily asked as she passed by.
From the red that rose to his cheeks, Emily knew he was.
“What? No,” Pete stammered.
“It’s okay, Uncle Pete. I like her too. And with Valentine’s Day coming up it’s the perfect time to show her how much you care.” Emily tucked her gloved hands into her jacket pockets.
“Listen to you. You sound like some sappy television commercial.”
“I may be sappy, but I’m a girl. And I know what girls like, and on Valentine’s Day they like—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Pete returned to his work. “I know, I’ll do something. It’s Grandpa you need to worry about.”
“Grandpa?”
“Yeah. Your grandmother is lucky if she receives a kiss on the cheek. In fact, I can’t remember him ever buying her a card, let alone doing anything mushy.”
“Really? No flowers? No chocolate, nothing?” Emily rubbed her nose with her glove and noticed it smelled like Stormy.
“Not that I can remember. I think h
e’s been too busy taking care of the farm to think about stuff like that.”
“Well, that’s just wrong. Doesn’t he know how happy it would make Grandma?”
Pete shrugged. “If you say so.”
“Men! They’re all alike. Seriously, Grandpa so needs help …”
Emily tapped the side of her head. “Hmm. That gives me an idea.”
Chapter Seven
Charlotte felt butterflies of excitement dance around her stomach on the drive home from church. Pete had made a dozen excuses why he wasn’t attending church, so instead Charlotte put him to work getting things ready for Sam’s birthday. It made sense to celebrate on Sunday when they could all take the time to be together, rather than Tuesday when they would all be busy. She’d baked the cake the day prior and had kept it hidden in Pete’s apartment above the tractor shed.
She’d also done the preparation for BLTs and had hidden them in the back of the fridge. She’d splurged on those expensive Doritos chips and Dr. Pepper that Sam liked so much. She’d made it as easy as possible for Pete to get everything ready.
Charlotte was imagining a fun family afternoon as they parked the car and strolled inside. She held her breath as she entered the house, expecting to see the cake and presents on the table. But when she scanned the kitchen, her heart sank to see everything was exactly like they’d left it, including the pile of dirty cereal bowls stacked by the sink.
“Pete!” she called, partly from frustration and partly from worry. Had there been an emergency while she was gone? “Pete!”
Pete jumped from the couch in one fluid motion, and she could tell by his wild eyes he was half asleep.
“Oh, dang,” he mumbled, wiping his eyes and meeting Charlotte’s irritated gaze. Then, noticing Sam behind Charlotte, he held up one finger. “Sam, close your eyes.”
Sam sauntered over to the dining room table and sat. Bob sat beside him, seeming perfectly content to watch Charlotte hustle around to put everything together.
Sam lowered his head on his arms and closed his eyes, not appearing the least bit excited. Charlotte got the chips out of the pantry and the soda and BLT fixings from the fridge while Pete ran to his apartment for the cake.
Emily ran for the presents. “Get excited, Sam. It’s your birthday!”
“Wow, Sam. You’re almost an adult,” Christopher said as he counted the unlit candles on the cake Pete carried in.
Finally, everything was set up.
“Okay, open your eyes.” Pete tapped his shoulder.
Sam sat up and opened them.
“Surprise!” Pete, Emily, Christopher, and Charlotte chimed in unison.
“Surprise.” Bob added with a sly grin.
“Look, chocolate cake with homemade strawberry frosting, just like Mom used to make,” Emily said, sneaking a clump of frosting off the plate.
Sam nodded and forced a smile.
“I was wondering if that was a tradition.” Charlotte placed plates on the table. “I remember visiting your mom when Sam was just two. I was both pleased and surprised when she made this cake. It’s an old family recipe.”
“Why were you surprised?” Emily asked, making a lettuce and tomato sandwich. Charlotte wondered if she’d ever grow out of her vegetarian stage.
“Well, growing up, she always complained about helping me in the kitchen. She didn’t think it was fair that she had to help me cook and bake when Pete and Bill got to work outside.”
“So she liked outside chores better?” Christopher asked.
“No, not really. But at least outside she didn’t have my eyes constantly watching her. Or so she said.” Charlotte chuckled. She was thankful that they could talk about Denise in such an easy manner. It had been hard for so many months not mentioning her or her accident even though she was in the forefront of everyone’s mind.
After lunch, Sam opened an envelope with a small wad of cash. He looked to Charlotte for an explanation.
“Gas money.” Charlotte grinned.
“But my car’s broken down.”
“Actually,” said Pete, “I was tinkering with it this morning, before I took that little nap on the couch, and I think I found the problem. I just need to call Brad in the morning and order a part. Should be able to get it up and running by Wednesday.”
“Cool.” Sam smiled and then reached for more bacon for another sandwich.
Without a word, Emily and Christopher went upstairs. A minute later Emily returned with a package wrapped in what appeared to be a paper bag that she had decorated with markers. Christopher’s wrapping—a plastic grocery bag—was a little less sophisticated.
“Hey, you’re not finished opening your presents yet.” Emily handed her gift to Sam.
He opened it to find the skater’s hoodie. “Hey, thanks, Em.”
“Do you like it? I tried to make it just like one of those in your skater magazine, but it’s actually one of Uncle Pete’s old sweatshirts that Grandma helped me grunge out.” Sam nodded, but didn’t seem overly enthusiastic.
Next he opened a soccer ball from Pete, and a book on Tony Hawk from Christopher. The wrappings fell to the floor, providing Lightning, Christopher’s cat, with something new to play with.
“Found it at the library’s used-book sale,” Christopher said between bites of cake.
“Thanks, guys.” Sam rose.
“Not so fast.” Bob pulled his worn leather wallet from his back pocket, and took out two slips of paper, tossing them across the table to Sam.
“What’s that?”
“Tickets to the snowmobile races up in Harding. They’re happening next Sunday. Good seats too.”
“Cool. Maybe Paul could stay over and we could go together.” Sam turned to Charlotte. “Grandma, do you think we could borrow your car to go up? It’s more reliable.”
“I don’t think that’s what your grandfather had in mind, Sam.” Charlotte glanced at Bob and noticed his shoulders sink. She’d been surprised when he’d come home with the tickets, announcing that he thought some one-on-one time with his grandson was just what was needed. Obviously, Sam didn’t feel the same.
“Well, if I can’t take Paul, how about Jake?”
It was Pete who punched Sam’s arm.
“Hello … earth to Sam. Will you take a sec and think about who got those tickets for you?”
Sam’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, then he turned to his grandfather. Charlotte turned too and noticed Bob’s face turning slightly red.
“Oh, yeah.” Sam tossed his hair back from his forehead. “I, uh, didn’t realize you liked snowmobile races, Grandpa.”
Bob shrugged. “I haven’t always been so old and cranky. There were times I actually liked to have fun. I even raced myself once or twice.”
“Sure, then. We can go—” Sam’s face fell, and Charlotte assumed it was because he realized the event fell on the same day he would still be with his friends. “I guess we’ll plan on that for Sunday.”
Bob nodded, but the excitement over his gift had all but faded.
“One more gift.” Charlotte handed him a box she’d wrapped herself. She sucked in a slow breath suddenly feeling foolish for her choice. After all, if Sam didn’t appreciate tickets to go see snowmobile races she knew there would be far less enthusiasm over her gift.
Sam slowly opened it as if he was worried about what was inside.
“Looks like a book,” Emily said, peering over his shoulder.
“Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about,” Sam said sarcastically.
He opened it to find a Bible. “Cool. It has my name on it,” he said as he ran his finger over the gold letters.
“There’s more.” Charlotte felt her throat growing tight with emotion. “Look inside.” She found this last gift late last night when she’d been going through a box of old letters in the closet. Bob had called her sentimental for hanging on to too many things over the years, but she was glad she had. It was good to remember, to look back, and to consider how God brought their family t
hrough those trials. To remember that he would bring them through the ones to come.
Sam opened the Bible and lifted out a letter addressed to Bob and Charlotte. “What’s this?” Then his jaw dropped when he looked first to the return address and then to the postmark.
“It’s a letter from your mom. It’s the first one she wrote to us after your birth. I thought you’d like to read it.”
“Wow—okay,” he said softly as he stuffed it back into the Bible and then pushed the Bible to the table, standing carefully, favoring his side.
Charlotte searched his face, looking for disappointment, but instead she noticed his lids rimming with tears.
Sam quickly looked away, not willing to show his emotions. He wiped his face and then turned to leave.
Bob grabbed his arm. “Hold on, mister.”
“What?”
“Don’t you have something to say to your family—like thank you? Everyone has put a lot of thought into your gifts. They took time to consider what you’d like. Everyone sacrificed to make this day special. You should show some appreciation.”
Sam stared at his feet. “You’re right. Sorry, Grandpa. Thanks again, everyone.” His voice sounded scratchy, full of emotion, and Charlotte realized she should have given Sam the letter another time—when he wasn’t surrounded by people.
Think, Charlotte! Think next time. The last thing Sam wants is to be caught getting teared up over missing his mom.
Sam shoved his hands in his pockets and his tone changed, as if he was pushing down the emotion. As if he was purposefully putting up a wall between himself and the rest of his family. “Everything is just great,” he said flatly.
Sam slumped back into the dining room chair, as if resigning himself to sitting out the rest of his party, and began thumbing through the book on Tony Hawk.
“Hey, Grandma, did I tell you that there’s going to be another writing contest in the school paper?” Christopher chatted, oblivious to the underlying tension in the room.
“No, really? Tell me about it.”
“Well …” Christopher smiled, enjoying the attention. “We have to turn in stories two weeks from now. There’s a fifty-dollar prize for the best true story, and a twenty-five-dollar prize for the best fiction story. I’ve been thinking about writing one.”
